A Dream Within a Dream
by Wusai
Summary: [PoA] In a quiet library, where Hermione is alone with Madam Pince, strange things can happen . . .


**A Dream Within a Dream**  
Wusai

**Author's Notes:** This idea . . . just popped into mind, as I was watching the extended version of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ on ABC Family, and frowning through most of it because of the jarring slaughters of canon, something akin to parallel lines meeting. Gryffindors have Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, and that does not include Draco Malfoy! The Whomping Willow is a _willow_, dang it, not some cluster of stumps to be put together as a tree! Though, I must say, the Quidditch match was excellent, and Moaning Myrtle was absolutely _perfect_. But I'm not here to review to movie . . . anyways.

Don't kill me for this. Really.

Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome.

* * *

It was dark. The candles around her flickered, casting long shadows from the gigantic stacks of books before her. Her eyes rapidly scanned over the text in the volume before her, the only sound being from the rustling of the pages, and the constant whispers and mutters from the restricted section. She got up gingerly, yawned, and stretched, then meandered among the dusty shelves, pushing back her bushy hair as she went. She pulled some likely-looking books from the shelves and smiled at them. 

"Need anything, Granger?"

Hermione jumped, then whirled around, heart pumping, books clutched to her chest. Her breathing slowed and heartrate dropped when she saw that it was just Madam Pince.

"Ah, no, thanks," she stammered. Madam Pince nodded, eyeing the books. Hermione was puzzled; why did Madam Pince seem so suspicious of her? She'd always taken good care of the books, and she was just researching for Professor Snape's werewolf essay . . . It wasn't as if she were asking to borrow _Moste Potente Potions_, after all . . .

Only, she realized a moment later, Madam Pince wasn't staring at the books . . .

She shifted the books uncomfortably, flushing. After what seemed like an eternity, Madam Pince nodded, then turned around to dust the shelves behind her, feather duster brushing against Hermione's arm. She shivered.

It's late, she told herself. You're hallucinating.

But you've got to admit, a voice piped up in the back of her mind, that Madam Pince looks . . . _frustrated_.

And, awoke another voice, what _does_ she do with that feather duster, really, when the students aren't around?

After all, chimed in a third voice, an old biddy like her . . . must've been _ages_ since she's last gotten laid.

Hermione frowned, brow furrowing, as as she shooed the voices out of her mind, then grimaced as certain scenes flashed before her eyes.

"Are you _sure_ you don't need some assistance, Granger?"

Hermione jumped and screamed, holding the books out in front of her as a shield. Madam Pince frowned, lips pursed, as Hermione whimpered, "Oh please don't, I'm only fourteen, I'm too young, really; I don't want to know about that feather duster . . . "

The color drained from Madam Pince's face. Looking quite stern, she pushed Hermione out from between the shelves (and Hermione gave a squeak when she felt Madam Pince's hand on her).

"Honestly!" she said, forcing Hermione into a chair. "You are _clearly_ overworking yourself! I'll have a word with Madam Pomfrey, you _clearly_ need some bedrest — "

Hermione whimpered at the word 'bed,' and Madam Pince whirled around, looking very cross indeed.

" — and I _must_ speak with Professor McGonagall, honestly, what _was_ she thinking . . . Granger, I demand that you return to your dormitory _at once_; it is quite late, and you need rest. Out!" she shouted, pointing her feather duster at the door. Hermione gave a terrified squeal and hurriedly shoved all her stuff into her bag, and made to sprint from the library, but Madam Pince suddenly whipped out and grabbed her by the back of the robes. Hermione shrieked, realizing just now that they were alone in the library together. Her hands twitched as her brain debated with itself about whether or not to act in self-defense or to harm a _teacher_, but then realized that Madam Pince wasn't _exactly_ a teacher, she was just staff, really, and —

"Miss Granger, what on _earth_ are you doing!" Madam Pince shouted, alarmed, for Hermione had turned and began clawing at her hands, sobbing hysterically, something about rape and —

SLAP!

"Miss Granger, _get a hold of yourself!_" Madam Pince commanded, breathing raggedly. A draft blew in as the windows slammed open, snuffing out all the candles. A beam of moonlight cascaded in through the window, illuminating Hermione's face, making her tears sparkle and glitter as she heaved up and down, hyperventilating.

She slapped you! screamed a voice in the back of Hermione's mind. She — a _teacher_ — _slapped_ you!

Maybe she _likes_ it like that, another voice suggested.

Hermione flinched and whimpered as Madam Pince held her shoulders and shook her once, gently but firmly. "Promise me that you will get some rest, Hermione. You are overworking yourself, and you will collapse soon."

Hermione hiccupped and nodded, eager for any excuse to leave, while her brain muttered, like _hell_ you'll rest, you have so many exams to study for, you —

But it was quickly silenced, almost as though someone had muttered '_Silencio_,' when Madam Pince leaned towards her, drawing closer and closer, her breathing more ragged, breath that smelled like cabbage and pumpkin juice . . . She was moving in closer, eyes closed, lips puckered; Hermione squeaked, terrified; Madam Pince was close enough so that Hermione could see all the lines on her face, could count all the hair sticking out from her mole, and oh god how close she was, she was too close, _too_-close-that-damn-sexually-frustrated-librarian, too-close-too-close-oh-god-oh-god-someonesavemeohgod —

-:-

Someone was prodding her.

"Wh-What?" said Hermione, starting. She looked wildly about, making sure that her presence was all clear of Madam Pince. "Is it time to go? W-which lesson have we got now?"

"Divination, but it's not for another twenty minutes," said Harry, looking concerned. "Hermione, why didn't you come to Charms?"

"What? Oh no!" Hermione squeaked. "I forgot to go to Charms!"

"But how could you forget?" said Harry. "You were with us 'til we were right outside the classroom!"

"I don't believe it!" Hermione wailed. "Was Professor Flitwick angry? Oh, it was Mada — Malfoy, I was thinking about her and I lost track of things!"

"Her?" said Ron, puzzled. Suddenly, his face cracked into a grin as realization dawned upon him. "Well, you've figured out Malfoy's secret, eh? Well, well!"

"W-What are you talking about, Ron?" Hermione asked, startled. Harry smirked.

"Hermione, Hermione, the brightest witch of our age, how could you not know?"

"Or were you hiding it from us?" Ron asked, faking an upset look.

"Yeah, that's right, but you've got to do a better job of hiding things, and we're not as thick as you might think; I realized it too once you said 'her' . . . "

"You two aren't acting normally . . . What in the world are you two — ?"

"Well, the truth is, Hermione . . . " began Ron with a maddening air of superiority, immediately irritating Hermione — that was _her_ trademark air! _Ron_ wasn't allowed to use it!

"Look, I had a dream about Madam Pince and I just got mixed up and I was trying to hide it because it was such a ridiculous dream and — " she said, exasperated, but Harry cut in.

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," said Harry, smiling, gently patting her arm. "This may come as a shock to you, but . . . You see, the truth is that . . . "

"Harry, Draco, and I . . . "

"Well, we're . . . " began Harry, voice oozing the air of someone about to swipe off the cover on a cage to drumroll.

"We're members of a transgender prostitution ring!" declared Ron, right as Harry exclaimed, "We are Sailor Moon, and I am Tuxedo Mask!"

Hermione sat, rooted to the spot, shocked beyond words. But suddenly, to her horror, she found her body moving of its own accord, and found herself standing and tearing off her robes as she screamed in a voice that sounded foreign to her, "Fine, you bitches, then I'll just be Tarzan of the Jungle, so _there_!" and suddenly they were all screaming at each other, and Dean Thomas walked in with a bewildered look on his face as Neville French-kissed Trevor and —

-:-

Hermione awoke with a start, a cold sweat on her face. Spilled ink drenched the sleeve of her robe and dripped onto the floor. She gasped, jumped up, waved her wand, and murmured, "_Scourgify!_" As her breathing began to slow down, she tried to recall what had gotten her so worked up . . . some silly dreams, it appeared, something about a Muggle show called Sailor Moon, and something about . . . feather dusters?

She suddenly had the unnerving feeling that she was being watched, hairs prickling and standing on the back of her neck . . . and she suddenly heard breathing behind her, ragged breathing, as something that sounded horribly like feathers rustled close to her elbow. She stood frozen, and the voice that spoke next chilled her straight to her bones . . .

"Need anything, Granger?"

She whirled around and screamed a bloodcurdling scream.

— fin —

* * *

_Fic: 6/19/2005  
Length: 1,441 words_


End file.
